


Most Improved

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Anal Sex, Backstage, Blow Jobs, Dressing Room Sex, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Interviews, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-11-03 21:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Since the reunion there seem to be so many interviews where Westlife are asked who are the best and worst at particular things, and Mark always seems a bit annoyed when he's thrown into the same old boxes even though they've all changed so much in the last 9 years.  This is my response, but with porn.





	Most Improved

Tension.

Shane has noticed it.

His own fault, probably. Partly at least. Not that it's unusual for him to stir things up occasionally, maybe let a joke go a little too far, but that doesn't usually matter with someone as easygoing as Mark, who usually just rolls his eyes and lets the rest of them stop giggling so they'll feel stupid before he has to say something devastating about just how ridiculous they're being.

That's Mark anyway. Still, usually things are even. They pick on each other, change sides when it becomes clear that someone's getting singled out, especially in these all-day interview things before the night's gig. Brothers, in that respect. Laughing and ribbing but no real harm meant, and someone usually gets a swift punch in the thigh if things do go that mote too far.

Maybe Shane's let things get a little out of hand.

He watches Mark walk stiffly over to his dressing station. Knows that walk, twenty five years on. The one that walked the school halls, hurt from the teasing but not wanting to let on. Before they'd been family and he'd given back as good as he'd gotten. Before Mark'd been secure and been able to brush off a comment with an eyeroll and a flick of his wrist.

Shane edges round Nicky and Kian - who have already begun to throw cushions at each other, oblivious - and rests his hands on broad shoulders. Mark's eyes flick up to meet his through the mirror.

“Hey, what's up?”

“Nothing.” He lets his fingers dig in, releases them with a soothing roll of his palms that makes Mark shiver and close his eyes for a heartbeat. “Look tense.” Repeats the motion, digging in harder this time. Starts a knead that creeps in closer to his friend's neck. “Want me to keep going?”

“Only if you want to.” It comes out a little thin. Shane smirks.

“Shut your eyes then.” Mark acquiesces, with a slight grumble that says he still isn't pleased but will probably allow it. “Sorry if we were picking on you.”

“You weren't.” Not entirely the truth. “It's just... you know. It's been eight years. We've all changed since then.”

“We have.”

“So why are we still playing the same characters? You know I'm on time to things and I'm not messy or lazy like...” He huffs. “That's nice actually.” His shoulders hunch into Shane's hands, then release. “Okay. I'm over it.” Blue eyes open again, peering up from beneath dark lashes. “It's just a laugh. You're the best dancer and Nicky's the cool one and Kian's adventurous and I'm...”

“The sexy one?” Mark snorted.

“Okay.”

“It's just a game, Marky. It doesn't mean anything.” A soft, annoyed hum. “How about the best singer?” He bends a little closer to Mark's ear. “Or how about the cleverest? Or most creative?” Mark hitches a shoulder. “The funniest?”

“Gary Barlow blocked me on twitter,” Mark mumbles. Shane barks a laugh, then muffles it, not wanting the others to hear.

“What about the one I think about in bed most nights?” he whispers. Felt a tensing stillness that hid a gasp. “The one I want around me?” Slips his kneading hands down Mark's chest to skate his nipples then back up again. Feels Mark's head tip back slightly as he does. “Guarantee you make me the messiest when you do that.”

“Shay.” Soft croak.

“Can't say that in interviews, though. That I'm the last one out of bed because I'm still wrecked from what you do to me.” Hitching sigh. Mark shifts in his seat. “I know you've changed since the old days.” He bends a little more, lets his teeth scrape the rim of Mark's ear. “You've made me your whore.”

Mumbled swear. Mark's hand falls to his lap for a careful squeeze then settles, clenched on his thigh.

“Used to look at me with those big blue eyes.” They've darkened in the mirror now, pupils dilated hungrily. “But you'd never say how much you wanted to wank me off in the changing rooms after rehearsals,” Shane hisss.

“You wouldn't either.”

“Didn't know the words. Now I do.” He nuzzles Mark's neck. Bites a secret nibble into the soft edge of his jaw. Hears a sigh. “Know exactly what to ask for now. Know what you do best.” His hand beneath Mark's jaw for a moment, squeezing at his throat, then settling back to roll on his shoulders. “You're organised,” he murmurs. “Tell me how much time we have?”

“Um.” Mark glances at his watch. “An hour until soundcheck?”

“Where do we go, Best Sense of Direction?”

“Shane,” Mark snorts. “You don't have to-” Shane smirks while he considers it. “My room's the closest, probably, and I asked for a futon.”

He knows why already. So Mark can do his thing. Lay in the dark with a few candles before the gig and centre himself. They've all got their routines. He likes a few bottles of water, some fruit, and maybe a chat to wind himself into it beforehand.

He excuses himself to his private room first. Nicky lifts a hand, though he and Kian are too busy arguing over the match to really notice him going. Still too early for them to get started, they'll relax after soundcheck.

It's five minutes later he sneaks back and knocks on Mark's door.

“Quickest to Answer a Door,” Shane points out, when it swings open almost immediately. Mark scoffs. Pulls it shut behind him. “Best Room Atmosphere.” It's dim, but there's just enough candlelight to see by, little tealights lined up on the kitchenette, where they can't be knocked over. “Safest Use of Open Flame.”

“It's not an award ceremony, Shane.”

“Best at Stating the Obvious.” Shane catches his hand while Mark laughs. “Um... Best at Coming With Me Over Here.”

“Over where?” Shane tugs him toward the futon. “Oh. Over here.” Shane turns him, pushes him gently backwards until his knees bend and he sits, thighs spread slightly and looking affectionately baffled while Shane sinks to his knees and begins to unbutton his trousers.

This is Shane's favourite part, it has to be said. One of his favourite parts. The part where Mark's eyelashes flutter and he lets out a soft groan as his cock is pulled free. As Shane palms up thick thighs to feel the solid strength beneath his hands and Mark's hips rock up slightly.

“Shay-” he breathes.

“Gorgeous.” Delicate lick at the tip of him, and god that smell. Musky and a hint of what's to come later when it'll be down his throat, inside him, all over him.

“Sexiest,” Mark jokes, though he bites his lip as Shane slips his tongue around the head. “Mm, Shane.”

“Hungry,” Shane growls. “Taste so fucking good.” A hand fidgets into the back of his hair that palms a tremble down his nape as he sinks, swallowing to the hitching gasps coming from the man above him as the touch slips back up to trace fondly around his ear, thumbs down his throat. Another caressing the back of his head while fingers settle under his jaw and tilt him open.

He goes. Feels Mark slip tighter and holds it. Lets it. Pulsing suffocation and nobody has ever filled him like Mark does.

Clenches Mark's knees for purchase, shallow pushups that engulf Mark's cock, hands caressing his thighs when he's low and swivelling against the back of his throat, trying to screw Mark deeper. Thumb on his lip to hold him and Christ.

“You like it?” Mark mutters. Knows full well Shane does. That he'll be harder than anything from this. “Best at sucking cock,” he adds, and Shane groans. “That's it.” Hips lift. Again. Slow fuck that has both Shane's hands stuffing into his own trousers to hold himself in check. “Bet you'll still sound perfect tonight,” he adds shakily. “Little bit husky where I've fucked your throat raw.”

Shane whines. Hears Mark groan a laugh.

“Wanna fuck you,” he says. “Not yet. Get me closer first.” And Shane does. Gulps him down like he's learned to do over twenty plus years of practice. Because things do change. From clumsy bjs in Mark's bedroom, both of them trying not to gag and someone coming too soon and pimples on their arses.

To... this. Mark slow-fucking his throat like he's testing the bottom. Shane's arms migrating around his waist in an embrace that doesn't want to let go.

Love. Respect. That look in Mark's eyes from earlier that knows that they're the same people still, beneath it all, and that maybe it's okay.

He's never growing out of this.

Stumbling grip in his hair that pulls him up. Shane gasps at the pop of release. Mark still has his hair, fixed tight while his thumb traces Shane's swollen and probably reddened lips.

Snatched kiss. Mark tugging him like a pendulum he catches on the upswing. Bent forward and Shane straining, his hands fumbling his own jacket off, down to unbutton his pants. Mark's too and the two of them tethered by the awkward position and hungry mouths as they strip. As Shane steps out of a crouch, out of his trousers, and straddles Mark's bare lap to press them close.

Hands spreading his arse. Shane takes care of the other half, spitting into his palm and bringing it under to slick his hole. Mark presses two fingers in to chase it.

“Tightest arse,” he growls.

“Don't tell the press.” It comes out strained. Mark chuckles.

“Just for me.” Shane whimpers his agreement. Feels clever fingers find the delicate seams of him and coax them loose. “Like that?” A purr in his ear that leaves Shane shivering. “Like that,” Mark breathes again. “Like that. Oh fuck, Shay.” Fingers dipping deeper, swirling around as if enjoying the feeling as much as Shane is. “Doing my best, love, but we're going to run out of time if I don't...”

“I can take it,” Shane promises. Mark bites his earlobe.

“You have to dance tonight.”

“Loosen my steps up a bit if I'm split in half.” That gets a cackle that makes them both grin fondly. “Anyway, I'm the best dancer.” He hefts his weight up with a grip on Mark's shoulders. “You said.”

“I did.” Soothing kisses pepper his nose. “Oh your front, love.” Does as he's told. Mark's trying to make it easier and one they never ask is who's the sweetest. Who's kissing down his spine while they put a cushion under his hips. Lavishing affection on every vertabrae and slipping a kiss into him while he's clinging to another cushion, muffling helpless cries into the embroidery.

While a tongue laps away every tense misgiving his body has until he's grinding his hips back into the weight not quite settled above him, the palms on his thighs lifting and spreading while Mark devours the most intimate parts of him.

They climb the mattress either side of him, eventually. Soothe up his arms and under the cushion to meet his. Fingers tangling together and the teasing dip of thick weight against his lower back. Hot and leaking. Kisses on his nape while Mark wriggles to line himself up and Shane spreads his knees and feels Mark's pinning the mattress.

Feels wanton and stupid and gasping and split-

“Ah-” Tortured inhale that whistles in his throat. Gurgles into a cry he buries in the crook of their elbows. Nose burying into his stubble and hot panting on his bitten lips and the clench of fingers in his. Squeezing. Too tight on his hands and up his arse and fuck. Fuck.

Mark rasps his name against his ear and draws back again.

Mark groans and spears forward when Shane cocks his hips in invitation. Shane is clawing the cushion, Mark's fingers caught in the webbing of his own while he savours the agony, arse in the air presenting himself like a cat in heat but when Mark rocks forward again he's the one drooling helplessly on the pillow, clenching his toes and yelping his thighs into an almost cramping spread. Clamouring at the sheet with his knees to force himself up while Mark's kiss forces him down. Harsh lips that take and take while hips give smooth jolts of power that have him sobbing into their arms by the time he feels his control give way.

Mark fucks him. Takes him.

Ruins him and devours him and yanks them both up straight when Shane thinks he's going mad, tilts them to press Shane's hands to the wall before extricating his grip, the thrusts never stammering as they find their home in him.

“Get up,” Mark grunts, and Shane does. Caught in a brutally open crouch and clawing at the wall, the shadows of his fingers almost ghoulish in the flickering light, the hands on his hips bruised agony while they hold the angle to stop him falling. Squatting a helpless sheath for Mark's cock and oh christ.

Oh Christ.

He sobs. Does it again. Lets his head fall back. Catches an awkward, upside down kiss and when a hand transfers from his hip to his cock he can't help but blurt Mark's name. Again while the chasing slam frays apart every nerve ending.

There's a sudden climbing spear of pressure. Two more thrusts and he's unreeling into Mark's hand. Squirming and forcing himself down, not able to take another slam but needing the pressure right there. Hands off the wall and behind him to yank Mark's mouth to his, swallowing the growls of almost-there he's known for more than half a lifetime.

Mark comes... tenderly. Holds his shivering body and empties into him with a screwing press that might be an embrace if it wasn't such an unashamed fuck.

Shane takes his sinking weight. The giggling groan in his ear. Takes his hands and when they slip back down onto the mattress and onto their sides Mark is still in him, sealing him full.

There's a long, dozing beat before Shane whispers:

“Sharpest fingernails.”

Hears a confused huff. The sting of trembling hands tracing the hips Mark clawed at more than once.

“Sorry.” Sloppy kisses on his shoulder while a sticky hand trails up his stomach, the other deeper underneath to cup to his groin. “Messiest.”

“Apparently. Wait until you pull out, though.”

“Then you'll be messy from both ends,” Mark chuckles. His hips do a comfortable swivel. “God if we didn't have to be in soundcheck...”

“Most insatiable.”

“Most irresistable,” Mark counters. Shane purrs. “Most in need of a shower.”

“Joint award.”

“We'll share it.” Neither of them move yet, though. There's still time. “Sorry I was off before.” Shane shrugs.

“It's okay. You haven't changed that much Feehily, I know how you get.” An embarrased huff hides in his shoulder. “You know I've always got your back, even if I'm an eejit sometimes.” A nod replaces the huff. “That's never changed either.”

“I know.” Mark groans, moves, and then Shane gasps as well when he feels the drawing pop of pressure pulling free and the rush of escaping cum. “Definitely the messiest,” he laughs. Shane swats him blindly. Struggles to sit while looking for the shower. “I'll get it running,” Mark offers gently.

“You know how how I like it.” Mark nods. Disappears round a gap in the concrete wall and it's not long before there's the patter of water on tiles. “You better not be hogging the award for yourself! We earned that together!”

“Come claim it then!” Echoes out from the stall.

He forces himself awkwardly to his feet.

Maybe if he asks nicely Mark will be best at doing his back.


End file.
